


As Good as Anywhere

by arcapelago (arcanewinter)



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, PWP, Table Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-24
Updated: 2011-07-24
Packaged: 2017-10-23 09:24:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/248747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcanewinter/pseuds/arcapelago
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles can't sleep, and finds Erik already in the kitchen.  There's a table.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Good as Anywhere

It was a little more than an hour past midnight when Charles made it quietly to the ground floor of the house. He was restless, and needed the walk, though venturing outside in his pajamas didn't bode well for his reputation (or maybe it did, based on some of his less grounded college professors). He relied mostly on touch or memory to guide him, an overcast sky offering no assistance through the windows. Luckily, hardly a thing had changed since he was a boy, and the place was well memorized.

The way became even easier with the faint white glow at the door to the kitchen down the hall.

He smiled to himself. He didn't have a bat in his hand, this time, but once again he didn't need one. Approaching the doorway, he rounded the corner to find just what he expected. The light came from the refrigerator door where Erik held it open. Suddenly Charles didn't need the walk.

He sent him the barest mental nudge, less startling than a vocal greeting at this hour, and Erik straightened to look at him over the edge of the door. Charles approached to stand on the other side of it.

"Can't sleep, my friend?"

Erik studied his face before displacing his attention to the contents of the refrigerator again. He shrugged. "Sometimes I don't want to. You?"

Charles puffed out his cheeks as he considered his answer. "Not ready to lie down, I suppose." He noticed Erik was still dressed, at the same time wondering how Erik got his shirts to fit the way they did, because _good God_.

Shifting, he set his forearm over the top of the door, waiting until Erik glanced at him. "Or maybe I came to find you." Maybe Charles was making things up, or maybe he'd actually sensed something. It was to the same end.

Erik laughed, that quiet, harsh sound that Charles had come to appreciate. Erik turned to face him over the door, and Charles leaned into Erik's murmur. "Once is enough."

He parted his lips willingly as Erik tipped his head to press his there. Erik wasn't drunk, but Charles could taste the bitterness of wine on his tongue, and based on the rousing effect this had on him, Charles wondered if he himself might secretly be an alcoholic. He unthreaded his arm from between them to slip his fingers into Erik's hair, not quite as dashingly slicked back at this hour. It wasn't much to hold onto, but Charles made do, keeping the taste of him close.

He felt Erik shift to the side and followed him. Erik's clothes were cold from the refrigerator where they were soon pressed between them, but they had warmed before Erik even shut the door, sending them into nearly complete darkness.

A pleasant shiver ran through Charles to be suddenly bereft of vision. His remaining senses were stirred to a more acute alertness (save for his sixth, which he kept in check), and as Erik edged him back against the refrigerator, Charles went willingly, aware of every point of contact between them until Erik nearly covered him and he couldn't keep track.

Erik panted softly against his mouth, and Charles was grateful he wasn't the only one. "Is anyone else awake?"

Charles lifted his hand to make a brief survey of the other four upstairs, then winced as he quickly drew his mind away. "No one," he lied, but while Alex was . . . occupied, he'd probably be asleep directly afterward.

"Stay here," Erik murmured, and Charles could plainly feel the flex in Erik's chest when Erik pushed away from him to withdraw into the kitchen. Charles heard the cabinet open, and a scrape of a glass bottle before the door was closed.

Charles could only guess that Erik owed his ease of movement to the metal in the room, betraying its structures in the absence of light, and it was this captivating notion that turned Charles around to face the refrigerator, waiting for him.

The very sound of Erik unscrewing the cap made his knees weak, and he found himself resting more of his weight on his arms, folded over the top of the refrigerator, than his legs. He didn't realize he'd groaned until Erik laughed quietly behind him, pressing Charles' clothes down from his waist, fingers brushing his arousal as he freed it. Charles tensed in his effort for silence, but the sound of the bottle being set down on the counter, and what it heralded, drew the strength out of him again.

He still couldn't see anything. There was no light for his eyes to adjust to. There was only prediction, cobbled together from a miscellany of noise and heat and experience, to invigor his covetous imagination.

"Ready?" Erik murmured, close to Charles' ear so that he turned his head on reflex, catching the smell of Erik's hair and wanting very badly to turn further, to catch his mouth and taste the wine still lingering there on his tongue.

 _Yes_ , Charles pushed at him, because it was always easier to think it than to say it, some vestige of his life before Erik reminding him that Erik was another man and Charles wasn't used to this but hell, _he was now_ and he'd take anything Erik wanted to give him, give anything Erik wanted to take. _Yes, now._

Charles muffled his reaction in his forearm as Erik slipped two oiled fingers into him, and he was past feeling any shame for the way he took them, same as Erik suffered no hesitation before it was one more to make three. He could hear the metallic rustle of Erik's belt and zipper coming undone and involuntarily tightened around his fingers with the thought that Erik didn't have to touch them to do that. As academically as he might approach mutation, he couldn't help his quickening pulse when Erik wielded his.

Surprising him, Erik turned him around. Charles' instinct was to reach out to what he couldn't see, his hands finding Erik's shoulders, his neck, his hair again as his thumbs brushed the coarser hair at the sides of his face. Erik pulled him close, his fingers firm on his ribs, and not wanting to miss the opportunity, Charles kissed him again, pulling himself up to him, stepping out of his clothes as Erik guided him around and backward.

Charles felt the table against the back of his legs and started at the sound of it scuffing against the tiles. But the noise alerted no one, and he gripped its edge to hold it still as Erik leaned into him, the thick weight of his arousal almost burning against Charles' hip.

"Table," Erik managed, his breath and then his mouth seeking the underside of Charles' jaw. "On the table."

A shiver blossomed in Charles' gut, the collision of the sordid and the mundane causing him a single breath of rigid resistance before he buckled. He lowered himself to the edge of the table and allowed Erik's hands to urge him backward, feeling for a moment like there might be nothing but emptiness behind him before he met the solid support of the wooden surface.

In the darkness he felt unbalanced, like the table might not be straight, like his shoulders were lower than the rest of him, especially as Erik gripped him under the knees and pressed his legs up and apart. Charles held the sides of the table for stability, but even this couldn't ground him as Erik carefully pressed inside him and the room felt like it was tipping with the wild rush of air into his lungs.

Erik was panting, the sound of it mingling with Charles' tight-lipped groan, but Erik kept still for the moment Charles needed. He felt Erik's fingertips slip over his stomach, causing the muscles there to jump under the material of his shirt, until Erik found his cock and took it in hand to relieve the ruder edge of the intrusion. As usual, it took only a few strokes before Charles was nearly begging for more of him.

Charles tightened his legs against Erik's sides, pulling him in, urging him deeper. As the inches eased past, Charles fought to keep quiet, his gasping his only audible response. But even if he kept his voice under censure, his mind could not be so easily contained.

 _Please, Erik--_

It escaped him like water escapes the hand that holds it, and Charles could no more easily get it back again.

 _\--all of it._

Erik's compliance was absolute. He pressed further in, and Charles could feel the open zipper of Erik's trousers biting into his skin with his force and he only craved more, the pain morphing into the match that lights the kindling. Erik bent over him, and Charles felt the shudder of his elbows on the table, then the grip of his hands under Charles' shoulders as he began to move in him, rhythmic and unyielding, firm and pulsing where Charles' body was opened to accept him.

Charles finally felt pinned, secure as Erik held him to the table's surface, so that even if the room tipped he couldn't fall. He let go of its edges to hold onto Erik instead, his anchor in more ways than he could recently count. One hand clasped the back of his neck while the other curled around the back of his arm, where the hard muscle flexed with his rhythm against Charles' palm. It was muscle built and honed for a far less pleasant purpose, but Charles would all too happily redirect its strength to him instead.

The joints of the table were beginning to creak despite their solid construction, but Charles' concern was stripped from his thoughts as he felt Erik's breath on his neck, then the warmth of his mouth and the pliancy of his tongue following the line of muscle up to his ear.

"Read my mind," Erik murmured there, and the words thrummed hard through Charles' body like a spasm, wringing the barest noise of tensity from his throat. "Read it."

Loathe as he was to let go of him in any capacity, Charles nevertheless obeyed, bringing his first two fingers against his temple. He opened the cage and let his mind slip away from him and into Erik, where he nearly lost himself in the sudden doubled intensity of their act. He could feel what Erik felt: the warm clench around the base of his cock, the feathering of Charles' hair across the bridge of his nose, the stirring heat in his groin that begged for a faster pace. He felt the table under his elbows, the floor beneath his feet, and underneath it all the dark sense of the power he commanded and to what ends.

But there was more, more that lured Charles far outside his ability to control himself, and that was Erik's inkling of hope, a small but by no means insignificant thing, that maybe through Charles he might be happy, that maybe he was not doomed to continue the life he'd suffered thus far.

Charles' orgasm hit him like an afterthought, a wave crashing on him from behind, then dragging him back with it, back into his own head, to drown him in the peculiar nature of its elated agony. He pulled at Erik, helpless in the throes of its current, its whirlpool center where Erik was buried inside him. The table's surface was unforgivingly hard where he arched against it; Erik's hand was far softer where it covered Charles' mouth.

It was a gesture Charles appreciated as he wound down. The wave gradually receded to leave him gasping and weak on the shore, and aware that while lost in their shared experience he had not kept himself quiet. He kept Erik's hand near against the side of his face as he caught his breath beside it, and as he looked up toward the ceiling the room may as well have gone on forever for all he could see of its boundaries.

It wasn't until Erik moved to withdraw from him that Charles realized he was still large inside him.

"Wait," Charles said, reaching to clasp his arm, legs holding on to him to keep him there. "Don't."

He felt Erik's lips brush his chin, then his mouth. "You won't like it if I keep going."

But neither did Charles want it to end any other way.

"Let me," urged Charles. He took Erik's hand and arranged their forefingers, together, against his temple so that Erik would know, in the dark, what he meant to do. "Let me, please." It was Erik's chance to object.

No objection came.

Charles wished he could see Erik's face, but he knew he'd be seeing far more of him than any man had a right to. Once again he extended a piece of his mind to Erik, this time with a breath of influence. He glimpsed briefly Erik's rational mind: his present curiosity, his awareness of his lingering physical need. But Charles moved past it, deeper, to the far less complex but no less compelling limbic center of his mind, where Erik was not even conscious of its operations.

He heard Erik's breath catch in his throat before he released it in a light groan. Encouraged, Charles settled himself into that region, stimulating it, culling its receptiveness to him so that Erik once more stumbled hard over his breathing, his muscles shuddering against Charles as he tensed.

Though Charles could have drawn this out for hours, this wasn't meant to torture him. There was a cycle, a rhythm for Charles to match, and at the next valley before the rise Charles seized him, deeper than anyone else could touch him, and he felt Erik convulse, thrusting hard into him, once, twice until Charles heard his stifled cry and felt the swell and the warmth of his release inside him.

Erik clenched his hand where it rested against the side of Charles' face and Charles gripped it in turn, his other hand tightly balling Erik's shirt behind his shoulder, urging his absolute closeness for as long as the tension ruled his frame.

When Erik was finally spent, the energy leaving him abruptly, Charles relaxed his grip, panting as Erik did, so close to the gravity of his exertion that he was pulled into it. Though Erik had drawn free of him, the height of the table was too low for his total collapse, and he remained on his elbows, head hanging so that Charles felt his mussed hair against his neck where it fell. He listened in their recovery to the room around them, eyes closed or open, it didn't matter, and confirmed for the hundredth time that night that their charges were still asleep upstairs. He'd soon be joining them; maybe Erik would, too. Charles was far from restless now. In fact, he was far from being awake altogether.

"You know, that's a dangerous weapon you have," Erik murmured, his voice nearly back to normal. Charles felt that he'd lifted his head, and he could hear the hint of amusement in his tone.

"I suppose there are worse ways to go," Charles answered, his tone also light, though he always took such things seriously and trusted that Erik knew that.

He sat up with Erik's help, then required his support as he stood, one hand clutching Erik's shoulder, his other arm around his middle. For a moment, he stayed like that, head against Erik's chest for the simple comfort in it before his age got the better of him and he straightened up.

"Bedtime?" asked Erik dryly, and Charles nodded, though Erik wouldn't see it.

"Just help me find my clothes first."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [No Place Like Here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7987789) by [still_lycoris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/still_lycoris/pseuds/still_lycoris)
  * [As Good as Anywhere (The Old Girl Mix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11269344) by [afrocurl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afrocurl/pseuds/afrocurl)




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